minors pls do not interact! this blog will have 18+ content
currently writing for: pope cody & jack abbot & mohabbot
my inbox is open for prompts, requests, ramblings, etc!
I write fluff, angst, and smut & only for fem reader 🤍
I won’t write any content related to: incest, fauxcest, noncon, pedophilia, age play
(this page is in progress and will grow as I write/post more!)
pope cody fics
put on a show and make it nasty: 18+, prison pope x gf. After receiving an unsolicited piece of advice from another visitor at Folsom, you can’t stop yourself from thinking about how it would feel, how it would make Andrew feel, if you touched yourself for him while visiting him in prison. Once Andrew proves himself more than receptive to the idea, you take it upon yourself to come up with various ways to touch yourself while visiting him, providing a welcome distraction and something for him to feel good about while he struggles to complete his sentence.
be known in its aching and shown in the shaking: pope cody x reader. Andrew breaks into your house to watch you sleep. You shouldn't like it as much as you do.
just a little something to try and help me work through some writers block <3 (ao3 link)
summary: Andrew breaks into your house to watch you sleep. You shouldn't like it as much as you do.
relationship: pope cody x reader (who is once mentioned to be lena's babysitter & in grad school)
tags: developing relationship, emotional hurt/comfort, happy but mildly ambiguous ending (in case it wasn't obvious reader is not really angry at pope despite the first few paragraphs and this is actually so soft & full of yearning)
wc: 4k
You startle awake to the feeling of your mattress dipping underneath you.
Suddenly very awake and very alert, you blindly shove your blankets off your body and push yourself up your bed, away from the still unknown weight on your bed, away from what is likely a stranger sitting on your bed and watching you sleep. You tuck your hair behind your ears as you scan the darkness of your bedroom, eyes slowly adjusting to the lack of light as your heart pounds against your chest and your blood rushes in your ears, your quick and audible breathing filling the unsettling silence hanging in your bedroom.
“Don’t be scared.” The voice says, raspy and low, still sitting on the edge of your bed. You drop your shoulders before you know you’re doing it, your body relaxing into your bed again and no longer scrambling to back away from the shadowy body sitting next to you before you can understand why.
But you realize soon enough. You know that voice. You know that raspy voice and patchy speech pattern very well. You know that bulky shape of body even in the dark.
“Oh my God.” You groan, grabbing one of your pillows and swinging it at Andrew, hoping it hits some part of his body while your eyes are still adjusting to the dark. You feel the pillow hit his body without any resistance and only burn hotter with anger at his acceptance of your reaction. He could have stopped you and grabbed the pillow from your hands without any effort, but he didn’t. “I told you to stop doing this. You’re gonna give me a heart attack one night.”
Not many people would relax when they realize it's Andrew Cody sitting at the edge of their bed in the middle of the night and you're well aware of that. Not many people would be brave or stupid enough to hit Andrew Cody with a pillow for scaring the fuck out of them, and Andrew would not let many people smack him with a pillow and show no reaction. You're well aware of that too.
“You’re not going to have a heart attack. You’re very healthy.” Andrew says blankly, reaching across your bed and turning on your bedside lamp.
“What?” You ask stupidly, squeezing your eyes closed when the light suddenly blinds you. You slowly open your eyes and cover your eyes with your fingers when it still isn’t slow enough, blinking forcefully as your eyes finally stop stinging at the sudden burst of light.
Andrew seems unaffected by the light. You hate him for it. “You eat well and exercise. You buy vegetables and fruits every week. You go for walks after your classes, you do yoga on the beach, you lift weights a couple times a week.”
You blink at him some more, stunned. Your eyes have finally adjusted to the low, soft light filling the room and you can see Andrew fully now, can see the way he's sitting at the very edge of your bed with his back facing you, his spine perfectly straight and his shoulders a tense line above. He isn't looking at you tonight. He usually does you the courtesy of facing you when he breaks into your house and sits on the edge of your bed and scares the fuck out of you.
“Have you been watching me?” You ask him gently, more gently than he deserves, really, considering you just learned that he's been lightly stalking you. His silence after your question is confirmation enough. You've never noticed him following you around or watching you, but you guess he wouldn't be who he is if you made him as he tailed you. You shouldn’t have expected any less and you shouldn’t like it as much as you do, but here you are.
You shouldn’t like that Andrew has been following you and watching you for an unknown amount of time, shouldn’t like that Andrew has been studying you and learning your habits to the point of memorization. You shouldn’t feel your heart stutter in your chest and your skin warm when you realize he's been keeping an eye on you, but you can't stop the way your body reacts and don't think you'd want to, even if you could.
You shouldn't like that be breaks into your house a few times each week just to watch you sleep, but here you are.
You like it. You like him. You like everything about him.
“Why did you break into my house tonight?” You keep your voice gentle as you speak, untangling your legs from your blankets and scooting across your bed to sit closer to him, sitting criss cross just behind him. You don't sit next to him, not yet, not until you know what's going on. Not until you can figure out what's making him so stiff and weird tonight, what's making him look away from you for so long.
“I need you to watch Lena tomorrow. From six to ten at night.” Andrew tells your floor, his neck fixed in a tense, downward curve that points his eyes on your floor with no reprieve. You want to reach out and touch him, want to smooth a gentle hand down his neck and spine, desperately want to release the tension that's been clinging to him his entire life and give him space to relax without any expectations or demands. You want to touch him and help him settle, but you don't know if your touch would accomplish that right now. You still don't know what set him off tonight and you don't want to unknowingly make it any worse.
“Please.” Andrew adds on as an afterthought.
“That could have been a text. Or a phone call.” You tell him, just barely avoiding the instinct to roll your eyes. You worked as Lena's babysitter in between your grad school responsibilities, so of course you were going to agree to watch her during that time. You never said no to Andrew's requests for you to watch Lena and he damn well knew that.
“Why did you break into my house?” You ask him again, each word slow and pointed to emphasize that you wanted a different answer from him this time. Your eyes bounce around his body as you wait for an answer, lingering on the sliver of his profile that you can see as he keeps his head tilted toward your floor still. His mouth is pulled into a tight scrunch and his eyebrows are furrowed, wrinkles in his skin forming as the tension in his shoulders and neck spreads to his face.
He looks exhausted. He looks very unhappy. He looks worn past the point of function. He looks like he could use a fucking break and you want more than anything to be the one to give it to him.
"I am...I'm having a bad day." Andrew chokes out, each word strangled and forced. It sounds like each word was ripped violently from his throat and pushed past his tongue against his will. It sounds like he would have given anything to not admit that to you, but you asked, so he told you.
He always agreed to the things you asked of him. He always did whatever you asked of him, from things as simple as getting an extra plate from the kitchen to fixing a weird noise your car was making to helping you when one of Craig's creepy friends wouldn't stop hitting on you at a party. He was constantly giving you pieces of himself when you knew he guarded what remained of him so closely, so dearly.
(You secretly suspected, and at the very least hoped, that he didn't mind much when you asked for his help warding off creepy guys, though. He didn't seem to mind when you hung off his shoulders or his arm when a guy wouldn't take no for an answer, when you would drag him onto a pool lounger and curl into his body and underneath the protective arch of his arm when guys were pressuring you to get in the pool, or when you would pretend to be falling asleep against his chest as the night ran long and you were being pressured to go to an after party you had no interest in being a part of.
He never seemed to mind when you would run up to him with a pleading look and his face would instantly transform into one of cold stone as he wrapped his body around yours, and any guy brave enough to stick around would soon get the message and find someone else to bother. He never seemed to mind, because once the unwelcome man left you alone and you thanked Andrew, he never gave you any indication that he wanted you to leave his side, and you knew him well enough to know that he would have no problem telling you to get lost if he wanted to.)
"Okay." You whisper, the word sticking in your throat before you clear it. You got your answer—he was having a bad day. He was acting cagey and weird and tense because he was having a bad day. You weren't going to get any more information out of him and you didn't really need to know more, not if Andrew didn't want to share more. You could work with a bad day. You've worked with a lot less.
"Can I touch you?" You ask him carefully, clenching your hands into fists in your lap to avoid reaching out prematurely. You wanted nothing more than to touch him, but you had to ask first. You had to be sure.
Andrew slowly turns his head back towards you, the skin of his neck folding as he stares at you intense enough to send a warm shiver down your spine. His eyebrows were still scrunched together and his eyes were painfully wide, as if he was surprised by your question. He's probably never had someone ask permission to touch him, his body used for other's comfort and violence before it was ever his own to control.
"Yeah." Andrew tells you in that same choked, strangled tone, and you're moving before he's even finished the single syllable. You finish scooting toward the end of your bed, sitting next to Andrew with your thighs pressed together and your calves mirroring his as they hang over the edge of your bed. You slip your hand around his back and place it on the back of his neck, your palm resting heavy against the top notches in his spine and your fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck.
Andrew exhales heavily, his body relaxing into your hand like all the strings holding him together had finally been let loose, like all the grief he's constantly burdened with was absorbed into your palm for the moment. His thigh is stiff against yours until you nudge his leg with your own, and only once he glances at you from the corner of his eye and sees your hopefully encouraging expression, does he relax his legs and leans a little bit of his weight on you. You know that he's not leaning his full weight on you, know he's probably putting a negligent percentage of his weight and mass onto your leg, but he still did it.
He relaxed against your body. He leaned against your body when he needed to, when you wanted him to. He let you carry the weight for him, and it didn't matter how little he was willing to share with you, because it meant the world to you that he let you carry any of him at all. You knew it meant the world to both of you, for Andrew to trust you to hold him for the moment and for you to have that trust from Andrew.
"How often do you actually break into my house?" You ask him lightly, smiling to yourself as you scratch your fingernails against the tiny curls that cover his neck and Andrew lets out a little sigh in response. You know he's here a couple times a week, every week, but you've always suspected there were more nights he watched you and you just didn't know about it.
"Often." Andrew tells you bluntly, and his abrupt answer and tone pulls a little laugh from you. You're barely able to see the corners of Andrew's mouth lift with a ghost of a smile, but you warm with pride at being able to pull a smile from him when he was clearly struggling. You like that the simple sound of your laughter is powerful enough to make him smile, when a genuine smile was such a rare sight on his face. A beautiful, but painfully rare sight.
It suddenly occurs to you that if Andrew didn't want his presence known in your apartment tonight, you simply never would have known he was here. If Andrew didn't want you to know he was here, you never would have known, simple as that. He could have silently broken into your house, watched you sleep until the sun peeked through your curtains, and silently escaped the same way he snuck inside and you would have been none the wiser.
If Andrew didn't want you to wake up when he sat down on your bed, you never would have woken up. But he did wake you up. He moved in such a way that basically guaranteed that you would wake up when he sat on your bed, and he wasn't the type to make a mistake like that.
He wanted you to wake up tonight. He wanted you to know he was here tonight. He wanted you to wake up and talk to him because he was having a bad night.
You could talk. You had things to talk to him about. You always wanted to talk to him.
You slowly slide your hand down his neck and further down his back, following the line of his spine as you swipe up and down his back, over the thin fabric of his t-shirt. The heat of his body and the flexing of his back muscles underneath your hand as he shifts in surprise at your new touch is nearly addicting, but a heady rush overtakes you when you feel him settle underneath your hand again, his back stilling as he accepts your gentle swiping and rubbing. He trusts you so much, and you know that his trust is a rare gift reserved for practically nobody.
He shows you so many rare and special parts of himself and you desperately hope he knows how much you appreciate it, how you don't take any of it for granted, even if you're too scared to tell him that. He must, if he keeps showing himself to you.
"Thank you for the flowers you left me. I really liked them."
He left them in your car, and it scared the fuck out of you to see a bouquet of lilies sitting on top of your passenger seat that you know you didn't purchase yourself, until you realized they were probably from the only person you know who knew how to break into cars. At the time, you wondered how he knew your favorite flowers were lilies, but now you know. He's been watching you. Studying you. Learning you.
"You did?" Andrew asks you, his voice painfully hopeful. He still won't really look at you, is still just shooting you short and careful glances out of the corner of his eye, but it's alright. He's talking to you.
"Yeah. I thought it was nice of you." You nod as you bring your hand back to his neck, sliding your fingers further up his skull this time, massaging and scratching at the back of his head through the thick curls. You see Andrew's Adam's apple bob against his throat and hear the click of his forceful swallow and have to breathe slowly to stop yourself from throwing your arms around him and never letting him go. He was unraveling from a head massage and it was barely the beginning of what you were willing to offer him, barely scratching the surface of all the ways you wanted to touch him and show him that you cared for him.
You could give him so much. You could care for him so well, better than anybody that had come before you. You could take care of him and comfort him in the exact way he needed, in the exact way he craved, in the exact way he has been denied all his life. You could take care of him in a way that satisfied the desperate, aching longing that perpetually lived inside your chest and also satisfied Andrew's desperate, aching need to finally be loved and appreciated, because you both wanted the same thing. You wanted to take care of him and he wanted to be taken care of by you. Probably. Hopefully.
Andrew finally picks his head up and turns to fully look at you, his eyes shining and swimming with something you can't identify. You don't shy away from it, don't drop his gaze when his eyes grow a little wide and searching, when he's clearly looking for something in your face that you desperately hope he can find. You drop your hand from the back of his head and place it between his shoulder blades instead, rubbing his back again as he searches your face and hopefully finds something worth keeping.
"You don't think it's scary? Or weird?" He eventually asks you, the rough rasp back in his voice as his eyes flick across your face and he waits for your answer.
It's a little weird, but you're not put off by it. There are worse things a guy can do than buy you flowers but not know how to give them to you, so he resorts to secretly putting them in your car. "No, I like it. I would tell you if I didn't like it."
He swallows forcefully again before he opens his mouth to ask you something else, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he lands on the words he wants to say. He looks back to the floor as he voices his next question, and you apply more pressure to your hand on his back in response, worried that he wasn't looking at you anymore. "You're not...you're not scared of me?"
"No." You laugh gently. That's what he was worried about? You know you could have reason to be scared of him, know that you could be scared of Andrew because he breaks into your house to watch you sleep and breaks into your car to leave you flowers while you're in class and follows you and memorizes your schedule and habits, but you're not. You're not scared of him, because if he wanted to hurt you, he would have done it by now. If he wanted to cause you any kind of harm, he never would have let you onto the fact that he did any of those things.
"I...I really do like it all." I like you, you want to say, I really like you, but you refrain. What's one more night of biting back the words when you've been shoving them down for months? It just didn't feel like the right time to tell him that you liked him. It never felt like the right time, never felt like an appropriate or good time to tell Andrew how you felt, and most of the time it's an excuse you give yourself, but tonight it feels honest. Tonight is not a good time to tell Andrew you've been harboring a school-girl crush on him, because he was having a bad night and you didn't want to make it worse.
"No one's ever cared about me like this before." You continue, softening your voice, a gentle but sad smile growing on your face that you don't try to hide from Andrew when he looks at you again. Your smile turns into something real when you see that his eyes have lost their shine of worry and fear, that he's looking at you like a puppy desperate for love that you are equally desperate to give. You've always liked when he looks at you like that. You think you're the only one he looks at like that.
"No one's ever done anything special or sweet for me to show that they cared about me or thought about me. No one's ever made me feel...wanted before, I guess. You're the only one who's ever taken the time to—to show me that you care about me. That you think about me and want to know me. I like it."
"Then I'll keep doing it." Andrew promises, but you imagine he would have kept doing it anyway, so you just shoot him a little smile and hope it's good enough.
Your mouth splits around a yawn that overtakes you for an embarrassingly long time, and you're suddenly reminded of the fact that Andrew woke you up in the middle of the night to talk. "What time is it?"
"After three." Andrew murmurs.
"God." You groan lightly, taking your hand off Andrew's back so you could lean your head on his shoulder instead. Your movements are bold and confident, not an ounce of hesitation or doubt showing as you close your eyes and drop your head onto his shoulder, shuffling impossibly closer to his side so that you could lean on him more comfortably, but inside, your heart was pounding against your chest from your sharp spike of anxiety.
You've done this and more with Andrew before tonight, but this feels different for some reason. You've never touched him when he's broken into your house at night. You usually just lay back down and wait until you fall asleep again, cracking open one of your eyes as you stare at Andrew sitting next to you on your bed or in a chair pulled close to your bed. Sometimes you don't even talk to him, when your body wakes up on instinct alone after sensing another being in the room with you while you were sleeping, just mumble something incomprehensible and roll over and hope he isn't offended in the spare seconds you have before you're asleep again.
"Please break into my house at a more reasonable hour next time." You mumble, taking a deep breath to calm your thumping heart and racing pulse. Andrew doesn't stiffen next to you or underneath your head, but he doesn't reach out to touch you, doesn't wrap his arm around your shoulders or back like you might have wanted, but it's fine. It's fine, because he doesn't tense when you rest on him, he doesn't push you away, he doesn't give you any sign that he doesn't want you close to him. He just isn't asking for more, but it's fine. You had time.
"Okay." Andrew agrees.
After the second time your body startles after you accidentally fall asleep on his shoulder, you know you have to actually put yourself back to bed. You couldn't actually fall asleep on Andrew, because you were pretty sure he wouldn't move you off of him ever, and he would be stuck sitting up all night while you slept on his shoulder. You didn't want to do that to him, no matter how much you wanted to fall asleep with his body underneath yours. You wanted him to be comfortable the first time you shared a bed.
"I'm going back to sleep now." You tell him as you pick your head up off his shoulder and turn to put your blankets back in some semblance of order to crawl back underneath. "You can stay, obviously, but I'm going to be asleep in two minutes."
"I know how fast you fall asleep." Andrew says casually, but his words make you twist back around to face him as a surprised laugh is pulled from your throat. Your mouth stays shaped around your pleasant shock and surprise as you stare at him, as Andrew blinks at you like he doesn't understand why you reacted the way you did.
You really did like him. You liked him so much.
Your eyes fall closed as soon as your head hits your pillow and your blankets are pulled around your shoulders, but when you hear Andrew shuffling against your sheets, you summon enough energy to peel one of your eyes open to see what he's doing. You're greeted with the sight of Andrew facing you fully now, his legs bent in front of him instead of hanging over the edge of your mattress, his hands clenched tight in his lap as he stares at your near sleeping body.
You closes your eyes again and fall deeper into the temptation of sleep, lulled to sleep by the steady sound of Andrew's breathing and the knowledge that he was sitting right next to you and watching over you. You felt safe and cared for in a way you haven't in a long time, secure in a way that only Andrew could make you feel, and it was the perfect concoction for your body to succumb to as you finally fell asleep.
You'll chalk it up to a dream tomorrow, but just as you're falling asleep, just as your mind is slipping away from your body, you feel Andrew's big and warm hand gently rest on your head as he begins to stroke over your hair, soothing you as he whispers, "You deserve to feel special. And wanted and cared for. I...I'll make you feel that, I promise."
authors note: ok so I actually really enjoyed writing this / this dynamic for pope & reader, so if there is interest for more please let me know and I can expand on this!! reblogs and comments are so very appreciated and keep me motivated to continue writing <3
coming up behind him in the kitchen and just wrapping your arms around his waist, a firm set of abs covered by a soft lil tummy.
laying your head on his stomach while watching an 80’s movie that has a great soundtrack but definitely didn’t age well, head bouncing and vibrating every time he talks or laughs.
his stomach pressing into yours when he’s fucking you missionary, flushed and freckled because his irish skin will always always always give him away.
his warm, soft tummy squished up against your back when he has you in a lethal cuddle in bed (more like a headlock, you’re not going anywhere) your skin sticking together
the lil peek of tummy when he lifts his arms to stretch or grab something that you definitely try to bite if you’re in the comfort of your own home. even better if you can see one of your old bite marks fading.
“can i open my eyes now?” you asked excitedly, kicking your feet as pope held up the diamond anklet he stole from his recent job with the guys. pope lived for your reactions every time he brought you back something and surprised you with it, his own small smile playing on his lips as he answered with a hushed ‘yeah’. removing your hands from your face, you gasped as soon as you saw the twinkling gems reflect off of the light from your bedside lamp, your eyes widening ever so slightly. “oh, andrew!” you stared in awe, the small ‘p’ pendant catching your attention as pope’s chest bloomed with pride. “do you like it?” he couldn’t help but ask, needing the reassurance that he did something good.
you nodded, a high pitched squeal leaving your lips as you threw your arms around him and littered his face with kisses. “it’s perfect, i love it so much!” pope felt relieved upon getting your approval, his skin flushing as you swung your leg over his lap and straddled him. handing over the anklet, pope watched as you inspected it— fascination written all over your face. “you’ll only be able to wear it around the house for now since people will be on the lookout for it, so don’t forget not to go out with it on or anything.” pope explained, his rough palms skimming the tops of your thighs as you hummed. “can you put it on for me?” you asked, handing the anklet back over. “i’m glad you asked, i was hoping to see it in action..”
at his words, your eyebrows knitted in confusion. “what do you mean?”
“andy—!” you cried, choking out a sob as pope forced your knees to be pinned to your chest, your ankles on either side of his head. hiccuping with each harsh thrust inside your cunt, pope eyed the diamonds clasped around your ankle, a groan rumbling from his chest as the pendant winked back at him in the form of a twinkle. you gripped your bedsheets, your eyes screwing shut at the pleasurable force his cock was hitting your cervix. “ah, fuckkk,” pope drawled out, his chest heaving up and down, “are you sure you like it?” you didn’t know if he was talking about the absolute pounding he was giving you right now, or the string of diamonds adorning your ankle, but to say you loved both would be an understatement.
“yes— i love it so much!” you screamed when he repositioned your knees to the mattress, his body now flushed against your own as his lips rested by your ear. “i thought about you all day.” pope said through gritted teeth, his lips ghosting your earlobe as he spoke. “did you think about me?” he asked, his voice carrying a small hint of insecurity. tangling your fingers in his curls, you made sure to look him in the eyes when you said your next words. “i think about you all the time, andrew.” his thrusts slowed down, his gaze flickering over the features of your face. “you worry me sick every time you go out on a job,” you stroked his flushed cheeks with your thumbs, “i’m scared one day you won’t come back to me.”
pope can’t remember anyone who truly worried for him and cared for him like you did, your words doing more than just tugging at his heartstrings. you gasped when you felt his cock twitch inside of you, thick ropes of hot cum filling you up in no time as pope grew desperate to give you an orgasm of your own. aching with overstimulation, pope shuddered as he continued rocking into you, the long, slow strokes of his hips paired with his rough fingertips on your clit making you tremble and shake. studying you closely, pope watched as your teeth pulled on your bottom lip, your skin growing hot as the coil in your tummy grew tighter and tighter. “andrew..” you whispered breathlessly, gazing up at pope through your lashes.
pope knew that look all too well, his fingers working relentlessly as he brought you over the edge, your thighs clamping tight around his hand. “keep them open, baby, just let it happen.” pope forced your thighs open, his lips ghosting over yours as tears slipped down your cheeks. you could never get used to the size of him, his length hitting you in places you had never felt before he came along. your blood was rushing through your ears, your limbs falling weak as you gave into pope and let him have his way with you. nails digging into his flesh, you tapped out as soon as the pleasure subsided and a dull ache began to form on your sensitive clit. “no more, no more!” you cried out, your hips instinctively backing away.
pope pulled out with a slick pop, a groan leaving his lips as he watched you clench around nothing, the sight of your abused cunt making him curse under his breath. you laid there, fucked out into oblivion and brainless, your body still trembling with the aftershocks of your orgasm. leaving you for a moment, pope went to get something to clean you up with, his hands working gently to put you back at ease. eventually, your breathing slowed and all you can feel was pope tucking you against his chest, his large hands running soothingly down your back as he brought your comforter up to cover both of you. “please don’t get into that pretty head of yours so much,” he kissed your temple, “i’ll always come back to you.”
𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘’𝐒 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐒. 𐙚⋆°🦢.⋆ᥫ᭡ — please give all of these incredible writers the love and support. 🍯 random fandom & character order, 18+ only please.
— part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven, part eight, part nine, part ten,
summary: After receiving an unsolicited piece of advice from another visitor at Folsom, you can’t stop yourself from thinking about how it would feel, how it would make Andrew feel, if you touched yourself for him while visiting him in prison. Once Andrew proves himself more than receptive to the idea, you take it upon yourself to come up with various ways to touch yourself while visiting him, providing a welcome distraction and something for him to feel good about while he struggles to complete his sentence.
ao3 link
tags: prison pope, established relationship, exhibitionism, masturbation (female), dirty talk, no use of Y/N
